A seashell dreams by Annie Besant

I lie faded
beached
on sand seasoned with footsteps, crushed tin, gum, weed, a lost slipper, a tube of sunscreen.
Grubby hands turn me over
flicking away the silt of the ocean.
I fall
harshly among the skeletal remains of my own kind
I lie faded.

I was once a mermaid's comb
The sea king's token
I was a half of a whole
A body enclosing soft warm life

I lie faded
forgotten
my jagged edges too sharp for delicate fingers.
The sea will claim me soon
to drown in its dirty emerald depths.
I dream
of a mermaid's laughter and the half that once made me whole
I lie faded.

Writing under pressure!

A professor at school often told us that you can't hold down a full-time job and be a full-time writer. Choose.
I always thought this was unfair. She encouraged bar tending/ waitressing... anything that didn't tap into your
brain juice. Five years after college, I see the grain of truth embedded into that statement. I'm a full time creative lead with an organization where the work sucks up every ounce of my creativity. And I come back home dead tired and too burnt out. It takes me most of the weekends to re-energize and get back to full steam. By then it's Monday and I'm back to being burnt out again. But my passion for writing was strong enough that after much reading up on Zen and the art of living in the moment, I came up with a few of my own tips and tricks to employ my creativity for myself.


The early morning call

My mind is at its freshest when I wake up in the morning. So I began setting my alarm clock to ten minutes earlier than the time I usually wake up at. The moment I'm awake, I take 2 minutes to center my focus, grab the pen and notepad from beside my pillow and write... it could be a continuation of a story from the previous day or just hashing out a plot...whatever it is, I'm training my brain to think when I want it to think

Take a breather

I find that it helps when I take a few moments off from my heavy work load to breathe, really breathe deeply. Just 3 deep breaths leaves me feeling more focused, and I can then segway into my ten-minute doodling

The ten minute doodling

Every two hours, I take ten minutes to put down a ideas and simply write on anything that my brain
happens to think about at that point. This is difficult if you're under a deadline but with practice you'll
be able to sashay in and out of ten minutes of pure creative writing. It's akin to shifting gears when you're on the highway...you go from 4 to 1 and cruise along for a while before you have to get back to 4 again.

Time out Saturday

I tell myself that Saturdays is my writing time. This is the day I take time (I'm a morning person so that's when I work best) to collect all my ten minute doodlings and make sense out of it. Some of the ideas wil see the light of day as short stories or poems, most of them will be filed away for the future. But whichever idea I pick, I make sure I spend atleast an hour on it. When you're in the throes of writing, you can sometimes write a story in half an hour... it's just a matter of dedicating time to it.

The Practice
Let's face it, all writing is a matter of discipline. A good writer writes often, a great writer makes it a matter of discipline to write atleast a few pages everyday. So practice practice practice. Sometimes when it seems like the words just won't flow or the story is stuck, don't stop, keep writing. Because practice makes perfect.

Cecil the Lost Sheep

I'm an online book scavenger, which basically means any downtime I get at office I'm on scribd or searching for websites that will let me read books for free. I get my fix, and don't have to pay for it. (I know, sad isn't it?). So, I was on scribd the other day and came across this cute children's book published by Zondervan. Cecil the Lost Sheep takes a parable from the Bible and makes it into a very non-religious story. I got the sense that I could share this story with kids as a stand alone piece or relate it with the Bible... would work either way. The book encouraged me to keep alive my dream of writing Bible stories.... here you go

Cecil the Lost Sheep, Full Book

Cows From Outer Space

I love anything fantastically fantasy... and in my own way I'm experimenting with writing fantasy stories for kids... which was why when I came across this story by Jeanne Modesitt I was awestruck by its simplicity! Who would have thought that meeting 26 bovines could be such a fun experience!

 

Cows From Outer Space

One day a large spaceship landed in a park just outside

New York City. The doors lifted up, and out walked twenty-six

cows. "Greetings!" said one of the cows to several children

who'd gathered round the ship. "Please allow me to introduce

us. I'm Claude, and these are Cathy, Clyde, Carlos, Clark,

Connie, Cooper, Calvin, Casey, Clara, Carmen, I Cory, Cindy,

Christy, Conrad, Calli, Carol, Cleo, Clifford, Clive, Curtis,

Chester, Clarence, Clint, Carl, and Candy." "We're on vacation,"

said Candy, and each of the cows gave the children a big smile.

The children were absolutely delighted with the cows and were

soon helping them set up their lounge chairs and unfold their

umbrellas. Friendly chatter filled the air. After more than an

hour of amiable talk, the cow Carol said, "I've got an idea.

Why don't we have afternoon tea in London?" "Wonderful," said

the rest of the cows.

"Can we come, too?" asked the children, jumping up and

down. "Of course," said the cows, "but you'll have to ask your

parents first." And so off the children ran. "Mom? Dad?" they

asked. "Can we have tea in London with the cows from outer

space?" The parents looked at each other and winked. What

charming children they had! What imaginations! "Of course,"

they said. "Just be sure to be back before supper." "Thanks!"

said the children, and back to the spaceship they ran. "We can

come!" they cried when they reached the cows. "We can

come!" "Splendid!" said the cows, and they all boarded the

spaceship and flew off. Twenty minutes later-cow ships travel

awfully fast-the travelers arrived in the middle of London.

Several people gathered round the ship, watching the cows and

children step out. The adults shook their heads at the scene

before them. "What a foolish thing!" they said. "A bunch of

people dressed as cows." "Probably trying to sell a new brand

of cheese," others grumbled. "What a waste of money. " The

English children, however, knew cows from outer space when

they saw them. They ran up to the spaceship and said, "May

we please join you?" "Of course! Of course!" said the cows and

the American children. And so it was that they spent a most

delightful afternoon together.

They drank tea, visited museums, and strolled . the

promenades. After a while, however, it was time for the cows

to go home. They hugged and kissed the 1 English children and,

together with the American children, boarded their ship and

flew back to New York. When they landed, the cows bid their

farewells. "Adieu! Good-bye!" they said tearfully to the

children, whom they'd grown quite fond of by now.

"Good-bye," said the children, who were equally sad to

see the cows go. "Don't forget to write." "We won't," said the

cows, and then they boarded their spaceship and flew up into

the evening sky. II During supper that night, both the English

and the American children told their parents of the wonderful

afternoon they'd spent with the cows. And the parents smiled

to themselves and thought, What imaginations children have! I

wonder what they'll think of next.

The Confessions of a Fitness Failure

That's the title I would give my book if I ever decide to do a Joan Collins. Ok, so, I'm your average southie woman with hips that could support the Himalaya shelf, and thighs that jingle to a tune of their own. I've tried almost every workout that has walked the length of a gym, and found it hard to keep to even one single routine past day two. You see I have EDD (Exercise Deficiency Disorder)... my bones actually creak if I get up too quickly, and just 3 counts of touch-your-toes has me huffing and puffing like I've been running the NY marathon.

The sad thing is it wasn't always like this.. in my "salad days" (to quote the delightful Georgette Heyer)... I took pride in working out for 2 hours at the gym - a sweaty combination of cardio, light weights, aerobics and gut crunching floor exercises. And then I turned 30, landed a 6 foot model for a husband, and my "excido" (in my planet the root of the word can be traced back to a marriage between exercise + libido) just collapsed. Now I've joined the ranks of the women who would love to smack those skinny bitches whose weight goes into a black hole.... seriously, I don't see thighs, or hips, or boobs, or even a teeny weeny tummy after they have just chowed down on tacos with extra cheese, and a side of double baked beans. I inhale the aroma of a cheeseburger, and Wham! I have just expanded horizontally.

Anyways, after much Freudian analysis about why my husband named by wobbly bits, I decided to be a phoenix and (exer)rise again. But this time I'm better armed (ah ha! Got you, you procrastinating wench!)... instead of running till my knees whither from the shock of the pavement, and pumping weights till I look like a female version of a very maniacal Arnold S., and doing aerobics while worrying about what gravity was doing to my boobs... I turned to Bollyrobics! Yes, you read that right.... Bollyrobics! It's what you get when Bollywood meets and mingles with Aerobics.

And I now tempt my will power by throwing it new treats... all in the form of dance workout videos. From Rohan Da Silva, to Shiamak Davar, to Dirty Dancing, to Hip Hop, to Belly Dancing... you name it, I've sashayed my hips to it. So, all you lovely ladies out there (and all you boyos too)... if you're like me and would rather roll over and die than trudge to one more gym session... here are some youtube videos to get you started on dancing your way to weight loss!

hip hop for the abs

If Shakira can, so can you

Have the time of your life

To The Foot from its Child

A poem by Pablo Neruda that makes me want to cry and kiss my feet...


To the Foot from Its Child

The child's foot doesn't know yet that it's a foot,
and wants to be a butterfly or an apple.

But then stones and pieces of glass,
streets, ladders,
and the paths of the hard earth
go on teaching the foot that it can't fly,
that it can't be round fruit on a branch.
The child's foot then
was overcome, it fell
in the battle,
was a prisoner,
condemned to live in a shoe.


Gradually, without light,
it started to know the world in its own way,
without knowing the other foot, shut in,
exploring life like a blindman.

These soft nails
of quartz, in a bunch,
hardened, changed into
opaque matter, into hard horn,
and the small petals of the child
got crushed, unbalanced,
took the form of eyeless reptiles,
worms' triangular heads.
And then they grew calluses,
they were covered
with tiny volcanoes
of death, unacceptable
hardenings.

But this blind thing walked
without respite, without stopping
hour after hour,
one foot and then the other,
now a man's
or a woman's,
above,
below,
through fields, through mines,
through department stores and ministries,
backward,
outside, inside,
forward,
this foot laboured with its shoe,
it hardly took time
to be naked in love or in sleep,
it walked, they walked
until the whole man stopped.

And then it went down
into the earth and knew nothing,
because there everything was dark,
it didn't know that it had ceased being a foot,
if they had buried it so that it could fly
or so that it could
become an apple.

A poem in remembrance of happiness...

Where is happiness found?
I’ve looked under rocks of gold laced with desire
I’ve searched through cotton combed with lust
The annoying child that it is
Never heeds my call
Never lets me pinch its cheeks
In my mother’s chest of bitter memories
Even skeletons don’t remembers when happiness
Last settled on their bony fingers
I met the Yogi
With his matted locks and lice that trail down his face
“I became one with the universe in search of happiness,” he says.
“So, where is happiness found?” I ask
“I don’t know.” He replies.
“To be one with the universe I sacrificed all emotions.” 
  
-Annie Besant Jon - 

Pratham Books: Book Review : The Royal Toothache

Please find my review for Pratham Books...I was given a free copy of this charming children's story by Sanjiv Jaiswal...

Pratham Books: Book Review : The Royal Toothache

Pratham Books is one of my favorite sites for all things related to books and kids. They are a well-spring of information on workshops, book releases, author interviews etc. In their own words, Pratham Books was created in order to:

• Provide children with access to low cost, high quality books
• Publish books in multiple Indian languages
• Provide publishers with a platform to create affordable reading material for children.
• Bring authors, illustrators, and producers of books together to builda reading country.
• Urge the corporate sector to actively participate in this process

Where a writer finds work

During my school days in the U.S., when I wasn't stacking books at the library, dealing with young blondes who thought War & Peace were two different books, trying to get a hang of cooking for myself, understanding the complicated code of American fashion, and thanking God for Karls Jr. burgers, I was trying to make money on the side. Freelancing is a wonderful world of banging your head on your laptop, downing enough coffee to send the world into a crisis, negotiating Google with the ease of a mariner... all this while you're trying to whip up 5-6 articles (300-500 words) a day that would sell at $5 a piece. Back then $30 was my ticket to a social life. But freelancing was a definite art... reserved for those who knew their subject from object, verb from adverb, and the usage of articles. And then I moved to India...
... and realized that young 18-year-olds, who could barely stitch a sentence together in propah English, were earning an average of 2000 Rs per day by simply spinning out works that would have made the Mary Poppins type of proofreader throw her pencil down and take enough Valium to leave a small village floating in never ending ecstasy. Which meant that the people who paid me $5 for an article when I was still in school, were now offering me $1 for that same type of work... and throwing my highly polished resume and portfolio at them didn't help in the least. The likes of me had been overthrown by some Meenakumari who was willing to write a full length essay for a dollar... and eagerly churned out 5 of those in a day! But I still persevere.... still knock on the doors of freelancedom, still demand quality rates for quality works... and feel like the heroine in Mother India. Sigh.
But for all you aspiring freelancers out there, here is a site that helped me find people who wanted serious writing and not seriously compromised writing. Happy Freelancing Sisters/ Brothers!

chillibreeze

Late... Abysmally... Raavanan

 Ok... so hold on, I know Raavanan is history, and you care for it as much as you care for the dried bug sticking to your window... but bear with me.... I have to vent about this insipid little movie no matter what you say!

I watched the tamil version of the movie with a bit of apprehension... mainly cuz it was a movie from my fav' director (who hasn't given a decent offering in oh-so-many-years), and secondly cuz it had Ash Rai in it. Yes, I'm one of those confirmed Ash haters! I wrote down my reflections as I watched the movie... so my review here is in a very stream of consciousness method! read on!!

...So you hint that karthik is ratnam's version of hanuman by making him jump thru trees? but kudos to karthik for actually jumping from bough to bough inpsite of his advanced years -- ahh.. how the mighty have fallen
and because he's associated with the monkey god, he has to be a forest ranger that hangs from jeep roofs and hoots like a monkey...

... cinematography captures the mood...

...dialogues - very soap operaish. super dramatic... i mean people, do you really talk that way?...

...chemistry btwn rai and vikram is good... the only thing that ropes u in in some otherwise unbearable scenes
prabhu has really come into his own, lending solid support to the main actors. his intense performance stands out...

...wonder who gave rai her vo in tamil... she sounds like a crone and the dialogues come out very reluctantly...

at one point i really wished somebody would shut rai up... there's a diff between lyrical dialogue and listless dialogue...

...that is one super water and violence proof eyeliner/mascara - pray, can i have it too?...

.... I realized that ratnam is more in love with the scenery than script sense... what else would explain rai abruptly crying out to her ram framed against the starkness of unending miles of black rock!

... prithvi is turning out to be a good actor... 

... as much as i don't support video piracy, i'm glad i didn't shell out money to watch this in the theatres...

... ARR's music for usure pogudhey and kaatu siriki stands out. And... vairamuthu proves that he's the god of lyrics with well thought out poetry that contains a wealth of meaning.... 

... Mr. ratnam, where have your agni natchathiram days gone? when will we see another nayagan? is that it? are you burnt out? do you need a trip to tibet to recover your senses?

Ok, buddies... I give it 2 chillies... pretentious but not hot!

Daddy's lil girl

I lost my father two weeks back. Normally, I can talk about anything under the sun given enough caffeine, and I can even write about anything under the sun given enough time with google. But this loss has left me bereft of words... and even after thinking long and hard, I'm not able to find the right combination of words to express myself. Isn't that a strange place to be in? It's like having a sharp, hard, diamond shiny with unshed tears lodged in your throat. You can't swallow it because you're afraid swallowing it will lead you to forget; on the other hand throwing it up will probably lead to hysteria.
It wasn't till two weeks back that I realized how important dads are to little girls. Everyone thinks it's the mother who influences her daughter's nature, but I think its the father who really defines his daughters life...
A father's neglect can lead to a woman who is fractured within herself, pitching the need to please a man against the fear of being rejected.
A father's neglect can lead a woman to cut herself on the knife of mistrust in close intimate relationships.
A father's neglect can even lead a woman to think she doesn't deserve all unconditional love... a father's neglect can lead to so many things...
So here's my note to all you daddies who might stumble on this blog - take care of your lil' girls heart... it's a tiny little chrysalis within which lies a butterfly built of dreams, and memories of one who handled her heart with care...

Me: Doc, I think I have a disease. Doc: What disease? Me: I believe it's called shopping...

I have added another chronic illness to the global medical chart – shopping. I know there are numerous jibes about shopping and women, but I seriously think we have a disease… ok, I think I’m going to have women burning effigies of me … let me rephrase… I think I have a disease. Now you may say, “Shopping is a woman’s birthright and we will have it… so don’t call it a disease.” But before we rampage to that conclusion, let’s study the characteristics that define a disease:

1.  A disease is an abnormal condition affecting the body of an organism
Now I’m not saying shopping is abnormal, I’m merely wondering if its abnormal when you become religious about your shopping experience. For example: My wardrobe is bursting with clothes and accessories… but every 15 days (and I’ve wondered if this may have something to do with the full moon/ new moon nonsense) I get this urge to go and buy something… anything. If its clothes or accessories I buy… that’s an ultimate high… but the odd sticky note stack helps too.

2. In humans, disease is often used more broadly to refer to any condition that causes social problems
No, I’m not stretching it… not shopping has often caused me social embarrassment! When I don’t shop, all I think about is shopping when someone is spouting Proust to me. When I don’t shop, all I do is pepper unsuspecting women with questions on where they bought a particular kurta or bangle or ring. And when I haven’t given into my shopping urges, I tend to plaster my face against boutique windows and sigh over clothes…

3.Disease causes distress
Yes, I get very much distressed if I don’t shop. It’s like an itch (in a place where you can’t scratch publicly). The itch first sends out only a tingle to let you know its arrived; it then sends you an urgent call to let you know that it needs to be scratched, till it finally decides to take a hatchet and hammer you till you scratch it.

So, am I right? Is shopping a disease?

A day trip to Puducherry a.k.a Pondicherry

So, hubster surprised me Saturday morning with plans for a Pondi trip. I haven't been to this lovely union territory in almost a decade, and of course jumped on the plan claws, teeth and tail. It had been raining the night before, but Saturday morning turned out to be a gorgeous day with the sun out in all its glory. We packed up some snacks and my in laws into our new car (I later realized hubster wanted to go on a long drive to break in the new car before it hit the 1000 km mark! Oh, well...).
Navigating city traffic is the worst part of it all in chennai. Cows, goats, cyclists, truckers, irrational cab drivers are all packed into one narrow street that has no traffic lights, and the only traffic cop of duty is usually just standing on the spot scratching his crotch. Anyways, we hit the first toll booth in less than half an hour (we started from Besant Nagar, Adyar), and paid 80 bucks. Once we cleared that and hit ECR (East Coast Road) the ride was sheer joy. The roads are cleaner, smoother with no potholes and there's not much civilization on either side to bother you. I managed to click a few pictures from the car, and have listed them here as sort of a travel diary. Here's my "What I Saw" list:

 I just had to stop when I saw a tender coconut vendor on the side. Sipped yummy coconut water, and then bit into some delicious nongu (palmyra fruit). Tender coconut: 15 Rs. Nongu: 3 for 5 Rs. Satisfaction: Priceless!

An hour before Pondi, I saw these salt fields as we went over a bridge. I pestered hubster to stop, crossed the street and took these shots. The salt fields were stretched as far as my eye could see. I was fascinated to say the least. hmm... so this is where the salt I use comes from...

It took us 2.5 hours to reach Pondi. I know some people get there faster, but we took our time taking in the scenery that whizzed by. I was surprised at all the greenery, the paddy fields, and the number of small villages that lay between Pondi and Chennai. Above, Pondi welcomes us.

My first view of Pondi - congested and noisy.

 Old architecture still rules in this section of Pondi

And some men still use the tractor as a mode of transportation!

And then we turned a corner into the French Quarter to some picturesque scenes...

 Serene...

A lighthouse

 The Gandhi Memorial

Just caught my eye for some reason

A family eating under the tree Indian style!

Our Lady of Angels Church....

... under renovation

Trying some stuff with the cam...

 Jewelry and clothes - these are some of my fav'rite things!

I liked... I liked....
                                                                                                                                                                         
                                      

One last look at the other messy side... and I'm ready to leave

Salt fields on the way back...

Women working hard...

Breath taking isn't it?

Two lovely lamp shades I picked up at Pondi. Hubster bargained and got me both for 250 rs.!!

So that is the end of my wanderings and meanderings. If you like any of my pics (yes, I like to flatter myself), do drop me a line first :)

Deviant Deo for men

No, I’m not hawking, or launching or going to swoon over a new brand of men’s deo; I’m simply chewing over some of the deo ads that have been attacking me through the idiot box. First was the Zatak deo for men ad – it shows a bride ripping her ghoonghat (veil) and exposing her ample bosom at the mere whiff of Zatak emanating from the hot dude next window. Then there is the Denver deo ad, which shows a siren coming out of the water a la Ursula Andress when a surfer guy pulls out a can of Denver Deo. Mercifully the ad stops short of showing her untying her bikini bottom when he uncaps the can. Then there is Axe, and another one with the gorgeous Neil Nitin Mukesh which shows women dropping everything they are doing in less than half a second and running after their perfumed man like little puppies after a walking talking bone.

OK, I get that women’s sexuality has, is and will always be commercialized… my question is why do only men’s deo ads have such a high level of sexual innuendos? To illustrate, let’s take a few women’s deo ad. First up is Dove. Now dove commercials tend to be classy with their use of “real women” (fair enough). The ads will show cucumber slices and green tea leaves with nary a glimpse of a man’s well sculpted pecs. God forbid we show a man drop his pants the moment a woman smelling of Dove walks by. Then there’s this other deo called Temptation, which follows our heroine’s shapely legs and bod as she discards her clothes and steps into a shower, and then liberally sprays herself with Temptation. She then slips on a red number and slips into bed with a sleeping form (which had me waiting in anticipation). The camera pans and we see that the sleeping form is a huge big teddy bear (eugh! sigh… I’ll never look at a teddy bear the same way again!) But WHAT? You can’t show a hot, sexy man thang under the covers? So, you see what I mean? A deo can be hot and happening deo for a man, but has to be mild and conservative for a woman. Why can’t the hypocritical association of advertisers give us a deo ad in which a man is willing to rip off his clothes for the lady? The day I see an ad like that is the day I stock up on that deo in bulk, and even bathe in it!

Calling all writers in Chennai

So I'm obsessed. Completely and totally. With what you ask? With the idea of starting a writer's group in the hot and dusty city of Chennai. Now, I've always jumped in defense of Chennai if any dared besmirch its name by calling it conservative and duller than a certain stephanie meyer book. "I mean look at the pubs we have," I say. "And the fashion shows. What about the amazing theatre line up? Or did you ever step into any of the happening restaurants?" so on and so forth.
But I am feeling sheepish to say that I haven't found a Childrens Creative Writing Group in this wonderful place. (If I just exhibited a spectacular amount of ignorance and you know of groups like that thriving here, please do find it in your heart to forgive me and spare a shoe in the process)
So, like I said I'm obsessed. I really weally want to start group or be part of such a group. If you happen to be an individual who shares my obsession, simply hollr!

Welcome!

occur.

My Definition of personal space:

Your space is your feelings, emotions, thoughts, God-belief, ideas - everything that makes you unique.

So, welcome to my space. I hope you stay.